Burnt Asparagus
by larosesombre
Summary: John Watson and James Wilson are friends and neighbours. All they wanted was a nice dinner party, but their boyfriends make that almost impossible. When House and Holmes get into a vicious battle of one-upmanship they nearly screw up the dinner while poor Watson and Wilson do their best to keep calm and carry on in the hopes that their weird boyfriends can become friends.


So... Wilson and House live in 221B. But, I'm suggesting it's 221A, and 221B next door is where Watson and Holmes live. Neighbours!Wilson and Watson just want to be normal, but there is no way that's going to happen with House and Holmes there. Inspired by scrolling through fanart for a while. There is some cute stuff out there guys!

\- larosesombre

Watson was unnecessarily nervous. He was obsessively adjusting the table cloth and tweaking the alignment of the plates and candlesticks. This had to be perfect. They had never had friends over before, and Watson wanted to make a good impression. Maybe this would be something they could do more often.

The friends were colleagues of Watson's, and also their next-door neighbours. Dr. James Wilson, an oncologist that Watson got along with very well, and his partner Dr. House. Wilson was sweet and kind, and very similar to Watson. They both were dating result-driven, mystery-loving assholes, and they were both very in love with them.

Holmes had promised to behave himself, and Wilson had promised to get House under control, so hopefully, this would go well. Hopefully, they could behave long enough to do something nice for their boyfriends.

Watson abandoned the table to check on the chicken that he had in the oven. It was coming along nicely. The veggies were doing well too. Now all they needed were the guests. And Holmes. Watson moved over to the bedroom door and knocked on it.

Holmes opened the door and Watson wanted to smack him when he saw what he was wearing. "Really Holmes? Your bathrobe and slippers? Are you mad? They'll be over any minute. I need you dressed with your hair done in ten."

Holmes mumbled something and slammed the door. Watson hoped he was getting dressed because if he wasn't then there was a good chance he'd still be in his bathrobe when the guests arrived. Although there was a chance Wilson was having the same problem with House, so they'd likely be late anyway. Watson sighed, then made his way back to the kitchen to check on the chicken one more time.

If Holmes wouldn't be perfect then everything else would be.

In a few minutes, Holmes came out of his room in a suit, and Watson bustled over and smoothed down his hair with his hands. "Thank you." He smiled, kissing him gently.

The doorbell rang and Watson practically flew at the door, yanking it open to reveal a slightly frustrated looking Wilson on the other side, his arm threaded through House's, the tight grip betraying his nerves. House was wearing a nice sweater. This was the neatest Watson had ever seen him.

"James! Gregory!" Watson beamed. "Welcome. Come on in, dinner is almost ready."

Wilson came in and gave Watson a brief hug on the way through the door. "John, I'm so glad we could make it." He smiled. He looked genuinely relieved that they had. "I brought you pasta salad, where should I...?"

Watson took it from him, relaxing as he led him into the flat. They had made it this far, now all they had to do was leave the two idiots to their own devices. "We'll put it on the counter. Thank you, James. You didn't have to bring anything."

"I thought I should contribute. You've worked so hard to get this together." The two of them sat down on the couch that Watson had cleared of case files and poisons. "Your apartment is so neat! I can never ger Greg to clean."

"Sherlock is just as bad. I stuffed all of his loose clutter into his room to get it out of the way." Watson laughed. "Can I get you a drink?" Wilson nodded and Watson rose to pour him a drink. As he did so he glanced towards the door where House and Holmes were still staring each other down.

"Evening." House offered, awkwardly shifting his cane so that he could extend his hand for Holmes to shake it. Holmes took it and shook back in an attempt at normalcy.

"Good evening." He responded. There was a pause and then he tried again. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Thank God. Yes." House responded, eyes widening comically. "Anything to help me loosen up. You're not much of a conversationalist either, are you?"

"I'm an intellectual. I don't have time to play host, I've got cases waiting."

"As do I." House said, sounding slightly confrontational as if he didn't want to be one-upped.

Watson zoned out of their conversation, replacing the decanter on the counter as Holmes approached. He moved back over to Wilson and took a seat. "They're getting along well enough. They're very similar." He handed Wilson his glass and watched as his fellow doctor swirled the drink in the glass and then took a swig. "How is it?"

"It's much needed. If Sherlock is half as bad as Greg when it comes to getting him dressed, then you'll understand."

"Are you kidding? He was in a bathrobe five minutes before you arrived at the door. He didn't even comb his hair, I had to fix it for him." Watson knocked the drink back, slightly concerned by the swell of pride he was feeling in describing how difficult Holmes was. "How's Greg?"

"Terrible. I had to forcibly hold him at your door to prevent him from darting back into our apartment to change into his hoodie and jeans. That's not even his sweater that he's wearing now. I had to lend him something because he doesn't own anything decent." Wilson was now staring at an empty glass. He too was feeling a confusing bloom of pride over the struggles he had experienced while trying to dress House for the dinner party.

Watson cleared his throat, hoping they could change the subject, but he was interrupted by the oven timer going off. "Oh! That'll be the chicken." He stood, grateful for the excuse to get away from the weird turn this conversation had taken. "I'll just get that. We'll be ready to eat in a minute."

"Can I help at all?" Wilson asked. Standing to join him. "The pasta..."

"If you'd like." Watson smiled at him. "You can take it to the table."

House and Holmes were still standing by the decanter, eyeing each other uneasily. Finally, Holmes spoke. "I take it that you, like me, are only here for your partner."

"Yes. I'm here for James. I'm assuming you only agreed to host because of John." He eyed Holmes warily before adding. "I'd do anything for James."

"I'd do anything for John." Holmes replied. He was beginning to feel somewhat frustrated. Watson would say it was because he was too similar to House, but Holmes was not going to let House beat him. There was no way House loved Wilson as much as Holmes loved Watson.

Holmes corked the decanter and set his glass down. Watson was putting on oven mitts ready to pull the chicken out of the oven, and Holmes decided he was going to be as helpful as possible to prove just how much he cared about Watson and consequently, about this dinner.

Watson was shocked when Holmes moved to stand behind him and snaked his arms around him. It would have been pleasant, a surprise hug, only Watson had just opened the oven and had his arms inserted into the terribly hot appliance to retrieve the chicken. "Sherlock? Can this wait until I'm not busy with the chicken?"

Holmes backed off and watched Watson pull the roasting pan out of the oven and set it down on the stovetop. "Let me take that for you." He reached for it only to be swatted out of the way by Watson.

"Sherlock! That's hot! Don't touch it." Abandoning his oven mitts, Watson grabbed hold of his wrist. "Did you burn yourself?"

"I didn't touch it." Holmes responded, somewhat surprised by the concern in Watson's voice. "Can I help you with something else?"

"Can I trust you with the asparagus?" Watson asked, his attention turning back to the poultry. "It will be done by the time we've dished up." He planted a kiss on Holmes' cheek then bustled off to place trivets on the table. Wilson followed him with the pasta looking vaguely confused by what had just happened.

House had also observed the interaction and followed Wilson to the table, leaving Holmes standing over the boiling asparagus. Holmes was annoyed by the task he'd been given. He'd much rather have followed Watson to continue demonstrating his love for him, but here he was, with the asparagus.

House, after checking to make sure that Holmes was watching, lifted the pasta out of Wilson's hand and held it over their heads, twirling Wilson back into the crook of his elbow and dipping him into a kiss all while holding his cane. Yes, Sherlock Holmes, this was how it was done.

Of course, he almost dropped the pasta as a result, but he recovered in time and dropped Wilson instead.

Watson rushed over to check on Wilson, and at the exact same time the smoke detector went off and Holmes swore very loudly as he suddenly became aware of the columns of smoke rising from the pot of boiling asparagus.

"How do you burn boiling veggies?" Watson yelled, leaving Wilson on the floor so that he could pour the asparagus into the sink. "Sherlock, go sit down. We're eating as soon as I can get this alarm off."

After a couple of minutes of waving a tea towel at the alarm, Watson managed to turn it off and went to sit down. "Well. Now that we've dealt with that. Shall we begin?"

Wilson smiled reassuringly at him. "Yes, lets. Shall we dish up?"

Watson served everyone and poured the wine even though Holmes offered to. Then he sat back down and joined Wilson in a normal conversation about the pasta salad and how he had made it, and about how that new receptionist at work was terrible and the hospital never should have hired her.

House and Holmes eyed each other across the table the whole time, and every once and a while one of them would do something endearing, but annoying. Wilson had just cleared his plate of honey glazed carrots and was about to compliment Watson on his cooking when House stuck his fork in his face. There was a particularly nice looking chunk of carrot on the end. "House, what are you doing?"

"Looking after you. There are no carrots left, so you should have mine."

Wilson hadn't really known how to respond, so he passively opened his mouth and allowed House to spoon-feed him the carrot.

Across the table, Sherlock Holmes frowned and turned to Watson. "John, can I get you anything else?"

"I'm fine Sherlock." Watson smiled. "Thank you."

Holmes didn't take no for an answer though, and instead, he slid his hand over and threaded his fingers through Watson's. "You let me know if you need anything."

Watson looked confused but he nodded at Holmes and gave his hand a squeeze. "Thanks."

There were several more incidents of this manner throughout the meal, and at the end when Watson and Wilson rose to clear the table they were stopped by House and Holmes rising in unison to stack plates.

"We've got this." House smiled. "Why don't you go relax."

"Just don't break anything," Wilson said, eyebrows furrowing. "Please, Greg."

"Don't worry. I've never broken anything in my life." House said, moving away from the table with stacked plates in one hand and his cane in the other. "Go sit down."

Wilson made his way over to the couch, and Watson stood to follow him. Before he walked away from the table Watson gave Holmes a quick peck on the cheek. "Don't burn the dishes." Wilson chuckled from across the room. "I don't know how you'd do that, Sherlock. But you'd find a way."

Watson and Wilson were too nervous to really do anything at first. They found themselves watching the table being cleared with bated breath. Anxious that they would have to intervene. Thankfully there was no need for that, and Holmes and House came and sat down without incident.

Holmes perched awkwardly on the arm of the couch and wrapped one long arm around Watson's shoulders. House watched him do this, then attempted to do the same to Wilson, only to find himself unable to support his weight on his leg in that position. Instead, he slid into the chair itself, half sitting on Wilson's lap.

"Greg..." Wilson began, pushing at him slightly. "Why don't you sit over there?" He asked, nudging him towards the armchair. "You're crushing me."

"Well fine," House said, moving over with an annoyed snort. "If you don't want me here."

"Greg, please."

"What's gotten into the two of you?" Watson asked, looking up at Holmes. "You're both acting oddly."

"Nothing," Holmes said. Pulling out his phone to deflect from the conversation. "Oh look, Lestrade's messaged me."

"Oh? What does he say?" Watson asked. "Tell him I say hi."

"He's at a crime scene, John. He doesn't have time for you." Holmes said. It wasn't malicious, just harsh. "He's investigating the murder of a man who was stabbed through the eyesocket multiple times. Apparently, his brain started leaking out through his nose."

"Lovely." Watson smiled tightly. "Can I get anyone tea or coffee...?"

"Coffee sounds..." Wilson began, only to be interrupted by House.

"Well, I've just received a message about a patient. She's been vomiting so much that her spleen ruptured and started leaking all over her abdominal cavity. Nasty stuff." He sounded strangely delighted at the notion.

"I'll get you coffee," Watson said to a horrified looking Wilson. "Why don't you come with me?"

"Gladly." Wilson stood and followed him at a quick pace. They stopped in the kitchen, making coffee and watching House and Holmes over the counter. "I can't tell if they like each other."

"I can't either. They're so similar that they both feel threatened. It's like they're competing with each other."

"Over what?" Wilson asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "Us? Their cases? What could they possibly be so worked up over?"

"Both I think." Watson laughed. "You saw how affectionate they were being. Sherlock... I love him a lot, but he's not like this normally."

"Neither is Greg." Wilson paused. "I kind of like it. Maybe we should keep them on their toes more often."

"Maybe."

They weren't even making coffee. Just laughing at the two men in front of them. House was waving his arms animatedly, talking about something disgusting that he had encountered during a case once. Holmes was saying something back, face flushed with excitement as he explained the goriest mystery he'd ever worked on.

"I think they're good for each other." Wilson smiled fondly at House. "Look at them. Greg is so excited."

"Let's do this again." Watson proposed. "A double date. Somewhere else this time, I'm not cooking again."

"You could come over, or we could go out." Wilson said.

"When?"

"Well, let's see. Today is Monday, and he drives me nuts sometimes when he's not occupied, so... shall we say tomorrow?"

"Fantastic. It's a date." Watson gave Wilson a hug. He was unbelievably happy that they had friends that were so well matched to their interests. He and Wilson could have their nice conversation and a break from the chaos of their love lives, while Holmes and House could have their competition and their gross stories. "Thank you, James."

"I couldn't be happier about this either," Wilson said, hugging back. "Thank you for tonight John."

They stayed over by the counter for the rest of the evening, chatting without being interrupted by their boyfriends who were growing more and more animated as the evening passed. House and Wilson didn't get up to go until the clock struck midnight, and when they did stand to leave Wilson and Watson were thrilled to see House and Holmes exchange an awkward hug.

"Well. I'll see you tomorrow." Holmes said stiffly. "Thank you for... hanging out."

"You too," House said, patting him on the shoulder. "We'll do this again."

As House turned to leave, Wilson and Watson discreetly high-fived. When the door shut behind them, Watson grabbed Holmes' hand. "Well, what did you think?"

"He's strange. But interesting. I don't mind talking to him some more." Holmes said, leaning down and kissing Watson's forehead. "And you seemed happy."

Watson reached up and kissed him back. "Thank you." He whispered. "We'll see them again tomorrow. We're going out for dinner, ok?"

"If we must." Holmes sighed, but Watson smiled. There was a note of excitement in his voice. "If we must."

THE END.


End file.
